


New Traditions

by aderyn_merch



Series: Holidays in the Fandoms [6]
Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn_merch/pseuds/aderyn_merch
Summary: Christmas isn't the same with two Connolly's instead of five, but for Finn and Puck, friends can also count as family.





	New Traditions

Malvern gives me Christmas day off. He says it’s because he respects my religious tendencies, but I think he’s just being cruel. Because if I’m not going to work, then I’m going to have to go sit in a pew with only Finn when there used to be five of us that would sit there. I’m going to have to put together some semblance of a Christmas dinner for just the two of us. There’s no point to it. Nor do we have the money to spare for a ham.   
So when I wake up on Christmas morning, I don’t get out of bed until Finn opens my bedroom door and peers into my room. His hair is messy and getting long. I haven’t been around enough to cut it.   
“Are you going to sleep all day?” he says.  
“Might as well,” I say back.   
Finn creeps around the door, and comes to sit on the end of my bed. “We can make cocoa.”  
I grunt in reply. It’s neither a yes nor no, because I don’t really care either way. Finn picks a little at the skin around his fingernails. His hands are chapped again. “He hasn’t even sent a Christmas card.”  
It’s abrupt, but I know what he means. Gabe hasn’t contacted us since he got to the mainland. For all we know, the ferry never made it to shore. Maybe it sunk.   
That finally gets me moving. I don’t want to sit around and think about Gabe. If I do that I’ll just get sad and angry again. He’s gone. He had to go. I shouldn’t still be grieving that.   
“Come on,” I say, “we’d better get to church.”  
It’s cold, but without the Morris, it’s either walk to church or take Dove and ride in the cart. Except the cart is made for transporting things and not people, and we’d be colder sitting there anyway. So we walk. There are lanterns and fairy lights strung between buildings in Thisby. They aren’t on in the daylight, but I imagine at night they give off their own heat. The path of lights leads all the way up to St. Columba’s. Someone’s hung a wreath on the door.   
The sermon feels longer than usual. I try to sit there and be thankful that I’m still alive. That I survived the races and saved the house and kept Dove. But the pew is just so empty with just the two of us that I keep thinking about Gabe leaving instead. The ferry doesn’t run in the winter, but some of the fishermen head to the mainland every now and then to pick up mail. He could have visited. He could have at least sent a card.   
By the time the sermon ends, I’m angry enough at my older brother to need to go to confession tomorrow. I stand abruptly, and reach for my coat. Finn is slow to move beside me. He seems focused on the grain of the wooden seat in front of us. He’s blocking the aisle, so I have to stand there with my coat on for a minute or two. And by that point Elizabeth has pushed her way through the crowd to stand at the entrance to our pew.  
“Well, don’t stand there dawdling,” she scolds, “Dinner will burn if we don’t get back quick.”  
“Dinner?” I ask. Finn pauses with his coat in hand.  
Elizabeth rolls her eyes and yells “Dory!” accusingly over her shoulder. Then she looks back at us. “I guess she didn’t tell you. You’re coming for Christmas dinner of course.”  
“We are?”   
“Well, you don’t expect us to just let you two skulk at home. That wouldn’t be very festive, would it?”  
“Of–oh.” I don’t know quite what to say, but Finn has got his coat on and Elizabeth grabs my arm as I step out into the aisle. She pulls me through the crowd of milling worshippers, tossing out “Merry Christmases” to anyone who catches her eye. She’s got us out onto the street before Finn can put his hat on.   
Dory Maud is waiting for us. She looks just as impatient as Elizabeth is.   
“I don’t suppose you remembered to tell the boy, did you?” Elizabeth asks.   
“Of course I told him,” Dory says, “I told Finn here too, he just forgot.”  
“You did?” Finn looks confused.   
Dory waves him off. “Of course. Now let’s hurry. The service ran long and I’ve already got the ham in the oven.” They drag and prod Finn and I down into Skarmouth, and into Fathoms and Sons. The shop smells like butter as usual, but today it also smells of potatoes with cheese and baked ham.   
“Leave your coats on that chair there,” Dory says, “and come upstairs. I need one of you to set the table, and another to make tea.”   
The upstairs of Fathoms and Sons feels smaller than I imagined. We step up into a room that is both a sitting room, a dining room and a kitchen. A hallway goes off to my right, probably to the bedrooms. Everything is closely spaced and a little bit dark, but not unwelcoming. Annie is already in the kitchen, pulling plates out of the cabinet. She smiles at us without pausing in her movements, reaching for the china with muscle memory alone. I guess it doesn’t matter if she’s blind here so long as everything stays in its place.   
Finn hurries forward to pick up the stack of plates, so I get stuck making the tea. I’ve just put the kettle on to boil when Elizabeth comes up the stairs with a familiar person in tow.  
“Sean!” I’m more surprised to see him than I should be. But he’s supposed to be working today. And it’s not as if Dory Maud approves of him. But it seems they’ve invited him anyway, and that makes me happy for the first time today. Sean takes his hands out of his coat pockets–somehow he missed the instructions to leave it downstairs. His hands are empty.   
“Palssons was closed,” he says. So he doesn’t have any bread.   
“I didn’t think you could get away from the yard today.”  
Sean shrugs with the smallest movement. “I started early.”  
“Well don’t just stand there,” Dory interrupts. “Take your coat off and check the ham. If it’s not done by now it never will be.”  
Dinner is a loud affair, mostly because the sisters keep up a steady stream of mindless bickering. I sit next to Sean and occasionally our shoes will tap together or our shoulders will brush. Finn inhales food like he’s planning on growing taller than Gabe. And I’m happy. It’s not what it usually is, but it still feels like Christmas.   
It’s over an hour later when we finally set our dishes in the sink and clear the table. Sean slides back into his coat again.  
“I’ve got to get back,” he says. He’s got horses waiting.   
I nod. “I’ll walk you to the door.” We start down the stairs.  
“Keep your hands to yourselves down there!” Dory calls after us.   
We weave through the shop to the front door, and pause.   
“I couldn’t get you bread,” Sean says, “but I did get this.” He pulls a small bar of chocolate from his pocket.   
“Sean,” I take it from him carefully. I don’t have anything for him. I wanted to knit him mittens but couldn’t afford the yard. Now I feel guilty. I can’t accept a gift without giving something in return. So instead I say, “Here, we’ll share it.”   
We break it in half, and eat it in the quiet of the shop. Upstairs Dory Maud is banging pots and pans together and Finn is laughing about something, but down here it’s just the two of us, the shadowed and cluttered shop, and the chocolate. I lick the taste of it from my fingers, and smile at Sean. “There isn’t any on my face is there? I don’t want Finn to know he missed out.”  
Sean leans in close. “No. But just to be sure…”  
I kiss him. He tastes like chocolate and tea and a little bit like honey ham. But mostly chocolate. We hug.  
“Merry Christmas, Puck,” he says.  
“Merry Christmas, Sean.”


End file.
